Annabeth Chase

22/ literature student / vita brevis ars longa

[daweyt]

Sylvia Plath, reading her poem Lady Lazarus.

[poetryofmuses]

People are like "live in the moment" "stop taking so many pictures" but how else do I paint these pictures in my memory when my mind is so elusive? How do you expect me to remember the tiny details if I haven't captured them and saved them somewhere close to my heart where I can look back and smile? How do I find happiness when these moments are mere memories that are half forgotten when my days feel despondent? How else do I make something permanent when it longs to be fleeting?

[reading-willow]

About dreams. It is usually taken for granted that you dream of something that has made a particularly strong impression on you during the day, but it seems to me it’s just the contrary.

Boris Pasternak, Dr. Zhivago

[reading-willow]

current status: a bee drugged with tobacco smoke that had ceased to take any thought for preserving the accumulation of its labours and the hopes of its hive

[reading-willow]

No, in your new and horrible independance you feel the dangerous premonitory ache, arising from little sleep and taut strung nerves, and a feeling that the cards have been stacked high against you this once, and that they are still being heaped up.

Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

[reading-willow]

As real as the Reimann hypothesis, as belief itself, unfaltering and divine

[coldswarkids]

back to our regularly scheduled mourning and weeping in this valley of tears

[dark-romantics]

𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨:

1. empty perfume bottles

2. abandoned castles

3. pressed flowers

4. smell of soil after rain, Petrichor

5. old books with dust all over them

6. walking all alone in a museum hall

7. languages that humanity no longer uses

8. stars, the moon, the entire universe and it’s secrets

9. old paintings

10. late night conversations

11. thunderstorms

12. vintage love letters

13. gothic architecture

14. beachy waves

15. candles that smell like seasons

16. stained glass windows

17. An empty library

18. writing poetry

19. family heirlooms

20. enjoying peaceful silence

Shoutout to @stardustemotions for making the former half of this thread.

[reading-willow]

21. sitting alone under rain

22. letters from someone no longer there

[reading-willow]

There is no sunset so lovely it couldn't be yet lovelier, no gentle breeze bringing us sleep that couldn't bring a yet sounder sleep. And so, contemplators of statues and mountains alike, enjoying both books and the passing days, and dreaming all things so as to transform them into our own substance, we will also write down descriptions and analyses which, when they're finished, will become extraneous things that we can enjoy as if they happened along one day.

Fernando Pessoa, Book Of Disquiet

[reading-willow]

He was just like a child—like a child who is beaten every day and doesn't know any more how to behave, except to cower and cringe.

Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

[quotemadness]

“I promise I shall never give up, and that I’ll die yelling and laughing.”

— Jack Kerouac

[academicssay]

the specific academic shame of a folder dedicated to articles you think you should read but know you will not

[stuckinapril]

i am a simple girl i seek academic validation and get absolutely destroyed when i don’t receive it

[reading-willow]

Literature - which is art married to thought, and realisation untainted by reality - seems to me the end towards which all human efforts would have to strive, if it were truly human and not just a welling up of our animal self.

Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

[natalieironside]

Around here we support slackers, cheaters, underachievers, and, especially, burnouts

[the-loverboy-poet-no73]

Your poets? Dead. Your history? Secret. Your darlings? Killed. You? Probably not straight

[lifeinpoetry]

“September 22. Nothing.”

— Franz Kafka, Diaries 1914-1923  (via nau-see)